


trompe-l'oreille

by canardroublard



Series: Fictober 2018 [18]
Category: Atomic Blonde (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/F, Ghosts, and in case you couldn't guess from the previous two tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-20
Updated: 2018-10-20
Packaged: 2019-08-05 00:45:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16357361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canardroublard/pseuds/canardroublard
Summary: In another world, Delphine lived. In a world where Lorraine was a bit faster, Percival a bit slower, the beating of Delphine's heart a little stronger.This is not that world.So Lorraine is reminded. By Delphine herself.





	trompe-l'oreille

"You should have seen it."

"Seen what, mon ange?" murmurs Delphine, soft, oh-so French and oh-so lofty.

"The look Percival gave me just before I blew his brains out," Lorraine says, smiling at the memory.

"Euh...ah, bon?" Delphine begins, voice cracking with sudden hesitation, hints of a frown.

"Oh, don't act so shocked, you would've—" Lorraine says, rounding on Delphine, only to find no one there. Nothing stirring but the phantoms of her own cigarette smoke.

Being haunted is terribly disorienting.

 

* * *

 

Delphine appears in voice alone. Whenever Lorraine tries to see her, she vanishes; like trying to grasp smoke, and in doing so dispersing it.

Yet Delphine manages to be intrusive. When Lorraine flirts with a new source, a lofty voice tuts, "Are you going to sleep with him? Get this one killed, too?"

Lorraine _wasn't_ going to sleep with him. But she sure as hell is now.

 

* * *

 

He gets killed two weeks later.

"Quelle surprise," murmurs Delphine, forever _murmuring_ yet each murmur coloured differently. This one shaded with chiding and disappointment.

"Shut _up_ ," Lorraine snarls.

There's a silence.

"W-what?" bleats a stunned, previously quiet crime scene tech.

Reality jolts. Everything resettles around the _absence_ of Delphine. Lorraine blinks. Scowls. Walks away.

"Rude, mon ange," someone murmurs.

 

* * *

 

"No, not that dress, mon ange. It's dreadful."

"Will you stop calling me that?" Lorraine demands, even as she tosses aside the dress and paws through her closet.

"I thought it funny. The ghost calling the person who got her killed an angel. You Americans have no appreciation for irony," Delphine murmurs, droll.

"I'm not American."

"Aren't you?"

Lorraine actually has to think. Who is she this week?

"Ah, oui, that one," interrupts Delphine. "Brings out your eyes."

Jolting again, Lorraine glances at the dress her hand has fallen on. It's sequined, shimmering like stardust. She killed a man while wearing it, once. Her dry cleaner did wonders getting the blood out.

 

* * *

 

"I didn't get you killed," Lorraine says one day.

"Quoi?" Delphine murmurs lazily, sounding so much like she's half-asleep on the next pillow that Lorraine has to clench the muscles of her neck to stop from glancing over, knowing that the illusion would shatter. "Qu'est-ce que—?"

"I said I didn't get you killed. I didn't ask you to go after him. That was all you."

"Mmm, interesting. In that case, why are you not also haunted by him?"

"Percival?" Lorraine asks, confused.

"Non, your David." Delphine pronounces his name the French way, Dah- _veed_. David would've found that hilarious.

"He wasn't...mine," stammers Lorraine, heart lurching to the right.

"Are we not all yours? Us who love you and die?"

Lorraine whips her head around. Delphine shatters.

 

* * *

 

"Did you love me?"

Delphine makes a comme ci comme ça noise. "I could have. If I'd lived."

"But you're dead."

"Ben ouais," Delphine retorts, droll again. _Duh._

"Just checking," Lorraine mutters, bitter, as she scrubs another person's blood from under her nails.

Who knows? Perhaps Delphine will have company soon. Another ghost.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Fictober, for the prompt "you should have seen it."


End file.
